


By land, air and water

by BlueLuna



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Christmas, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Black Panther (2018), Wakanda (Marvel), silly religious joke hope no one's offended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22081027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueLuna/pseuds/BlueLuna
Summary: It's their first Christmas together since they've found each other again in the modern world. Bucky just wants it to be like when they were kids and is trying his best with what he's got. Steve just wants to get back home.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14
Collections: Stucky Secret Santa 2019





	By land, air and water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KOranges](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KOranges/gifts).



It’s hot and it neither looks nor smells like Christmas. In the busy Wakandan market it’s business as usual, hardly a hint that half the world outside is getting ready to celebrate one of its most cherished holidays. The sun hasn’t been up for an hour yet but it’s already warmer than Spring back home… or so Bucky remembers. It’s getting better, his memory. Writing down in his precious notebooks had helped a lot and this new, peaceful life, along with the psychological counselling T’Challa and Shuri have provided for him, are working miracles in disentangling the labyrinth in his mind. He remembers now, like bright shards of clear crystal emerging from the mists of his mind, the Christmases of his youth. Their youth, as he and Steve had been inseparable from as far as he could remember. It felt strange, that they’d once been so happy, giggling with hearts full of joy and hopefulness, helping out mom and Mrs. Rogers prepare the house and the meal for the evening. Well, mostly they just went on small errands and came up with things to do, like rearranging the tree for the nth time, since the women shooed them out of the kitchen the moment they tried to step inside, already foreseeing the thousand ways in which two eager and over active boys could bring mayhem to their preparations. The sounds of that full, happy home, the smell of mom’s roast and Mrs. Rogers’s pudding, are so vivid Bucky can feel them as if he’s back there and an overwhelming longing takes hold of him. They can’t go back, of course, Steve and him, their lives so wildly different from what they could have ever imagined in their wildest speculations, but they could have something, a little taste of home and happiness, Bucky hopes.

It’s been a couple of months already since he’d been awaken in this strange but fascinating land and he doesn’t think he’ll ever cease to be amazed and surprised by its people and technology. The bracelet he’s wearing, a most useful gift from Shuri and staple of pretty much every Wakandan, comes in handy as he goes about the market looking for the ingredients for his culinary adventure, synchronously translating the conversations. How hard can it be, right? Hard enough judging by how many vendors try to get him interested in products he can’t even begin to guess what they’re for, while finding a turkey is harder than chasing a wild goose. Neither is to be found and a particularly wise guy tries to convince him that a particularly fat chicken is a duck, only for a kind lady to reproach the vendor and offer some assistance around the marketplace. The ordeal ends up taking way longer than expected, as different cultures favor different products and half of his carefully planned and banal list turns out pretty exotic by Wakandan standards. Coffee? Cheaper than water. Spices? A dime a pound. Lemons? Their weight in gold. Plums? His first born and 300 years of servitude. A turkey? Nowhere to be found.

It’s half past noon when he finally makes it to his tiny apartment in the outskirts of the city. It’s not much but it’s home enough, the nest he and Steve are making for themselves while the future remains uncertain. Steve threw it all away, his reputation, his position, his rank, and Bucky’s heart will never cease to hurt knowing he is the cause. He’s not much these days, a semi-stable wounded vet, still struggling with his past and his memories of it, trying to find a way to hang on and not drown in the darkness that so often threatens to swallow him whole. There’s not much he can offer, but he can make that little house a home, full of warmth and of as much as he can remember from one of the happiest days of the year during their childhood. The makeshift tree is already up, a string of led lights forming the silhouette of a, definitely absent in Wakandan lands, pine tree. He has also carefully folded some origami stars, a good exercise of coordination and getting used to a life without the metal horror that had been, for so long, imposed on him. Golden stars, sparkling amidst the tiny lights.

The task is daunting, but he dives into it with characteristic determination. God forbid Mrs. Barnes would ever let her precious son in the kitchen; other times, other mentalities, Bucky now regrets he never used his determination to convince her to teach him how to cook. Sure he’d been on his own for a long time but, during the war, he’d do with combat rations when out on missions. Then came… the darkness… the IVs and protein bars, he hardly remembers eating, let alone being allowed to cook anything. When he finally broke free, when Steve’s sacrifice woke him up inside, he still stuck to eating simple things like fruit and indulging in all the chocolate bars and occasional fast food he could pay with his meager earnings. His triumph had been making soup and that’s a good way to start. Pumpkin soup, the internet as a guide. Takes him about an hour. It’s still early.

Tackling a duck is an entirely different business, who even came up with stuffing the creature with about 300 different *thinly minced* ingredients, including about 10 spices he had never heard of? It’s 4 o’clock when, with a not so triumphant sigh, he shoves the thing into the oven and closes the door with the kind of determination that says ‘I don’t want to be reminded of your existence for the next 2 hours’. He takes a casual look at the street outside, knowing it’s unlikely Steve is coming up the narrow path that leads to the house at this very moment when he decided to check. He’s not that surprised, but his heart can’t help but sink a little, that Steve’s nowhere in sight. The phone is silent. No calls, no messages. Should he call instead? He usually doesn’t, Steve’s out in his missions, doing things that matter like he always did. Who knows what a poorly timed call can do? Alert the bad guys? Distract from a negotiation at a critical moment? Nah! Steve calls and comes home when he can, when his job is done. It’s still not that late.

Bucky sets up the table, it’s not like they have fancy plates and serving trays or a gorgeous centerpiece like mom would make. He settles for their ordinary wares, a vase with deliciously fragrant fresh flowers and some candles. He tends to an increasingly more deliciously smelling duck and waits. Changes the flowers to a different vase and sets the candles in a different arrangement. Soon the 2 hours are up and the golden bird reminds him that he barely ate lunch. It doesn’t look too bad, it looks quite inviting really. Outside it’s night already, the closer it gets to the Equator the faster night and day replace each other, no dolent half light to warn you of time going by, one moment the sun is up, the next the city’s bathed in the bluish glow of its vibranium powered lights. He takes another hopeful look outside, as if, by wishing so, Steve would materialize before his very eyes, a vision of beauty bathed in that ethereal glow. It doesn’t happen. Did Steve actually say he’d be home for Christmas? Bucky can’t be certain anymore, he goes through their last Skype talk, trying to play it again in his mind. Soon, maybe Steve said soon and he just jumped to conclusions. Christmas is not that important, right? They’re just two very lost men, out of their place, out of their time, trying to reconnect but feeling the weight of their pasts lurking just under the surface and pulling them apart. He checks the phone again, nothing new. Dares to dial the number but an automated voice answers instead, ‘this number is not currently available, please try again later’. 

He had put the whole of his heart into making this evening something special but maybe he had wished for a sense of normalcy, for a slice of the old times that wasn't meant to happen again. They had grown up, they had gone through so much, they were hardened by battle, by death, by loss. Normalcy had flown out the window a literal lifetime ago and the outside hum and glow of this strange, alien in all its technology, Christmasless city was proof of it. His mind tells him to let go, his heart isn’t ready yet. It’s Christmas' Eve, not Christmas Eve's afternoon that matters, he tells himself while he finds something to keep his hand and mind busy. He settles for taking a try at gingerbread cookies, paying far more attention to every detail of the process than is strictly necessary. If joy and love have a smell, it's this, homemade cookies right out of the oven, warm and full of sweetness. He can't really feel it though, heart heavier while the city outside quiets down for the evening meal and night. There, far from the hustle and bustle of the inner city, a mantle of peaceful silence sets in, paradoxically heightening the occasional sound. Sometimes his heart races a little faster, his keen hearing focusing on distant footsteps, hoping to recognize the steady but light threading of one Steve Rogers. So much power, all those muscles, Steve still moves like a ballerina! They all turn to nothing, the footsteps and his hope. Steve has the world to save, he always had, things that matter to do and Bucky can only wish him well. Steve never promised, did he? See you soon could be any of these days and Bucky understands that he had deceived himself, he had dared to want, to wish… Stupid asset, broken, useless soldier with no place in this world, who told you you had the right to dream of happiness? You know your ghosts have won when loneliness crushes your soul but, in your misery, you call it your only friend. 

***  


Steve checks the time on his wristwatch and shakes his dormant leg. Again. It's been three minutes since the last check, seven from the one before. It's amazing how subjective time can be when you're hiding in a deserted warehouse and just waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Just need a small favor, Nat had said, corrupt politician meeting warlord to sell weapons, need evidence. She had handed him a small camera with a huge lens and smaller than a bug bugging devices. You'll be done in no time, the info is good and I'll owe you one. Another one, she had added with a smile. That's how he had ended up in that tiny space between the rafters and what was left of a now mostly collapsed ceiling. For the past three days! The first day had gone by with relative ease, all he had to do was sneak in, plant the bugs and wait for the meeting to happen. Except it didn't. A message from Nat, definitely far too late, explained the politician guy had an impromptu urgent meeting and would only arrive the next day. It wasn't that bad, all things considered, they'd still have two days to get everything perfect for their first Christmas together in so many years. The second morning it looked like it was about to happen, rebel soldiers dropped by and looked around, took some time to smoke right under Steve's position, moved some more, probably told some jokes by how hard they were laughing and returned outside. Steve could still hear them, sometimes their voices nearby, others gunshots hitting glass or tin, sometimes the dry tud of hitting a wall. The day slowly faded away but nothing else of interest happened and Steve became increasingly restless as his plans kept on getting delayed. The fact that the soldiers had come back inside again, had their dinner and were preparing to get some sleep right under his nose wasn't helping either. There was no way he could get out without alerting them, causing a confrontation and basically ruining what he had come to get. He spent a miserable, sleepless night, warmed up by his memories alone and the thought of being back in Bucky's arms in less than a day. After all they'd been through, finding out Bucky was alive only to lose him again for two whole years, losing him yet again when he had decided to go back to cryo in Wakanda, and the worst, learning of all the horrors he had been put through while in Hydra's tentacles, there'd be a cold day in hell before Steve even considered not spending such a special day with his beloved. They'd be together and have a proper Christmas and that was an unquestionable fact. Of course, Steve was Steve and he still found it hard to put his own desires above the greater good, so he's not ready to turn his back on the mission just yet, wholeheartedly hoping the meeting will happen early the next morning, allowing him enough time to be home still on time.

Dawn is finally breaking, the tiniest light sifting through the rundown roof and pulling Steve out of a blessed slumber that took him back home, to that time of year he always looked forward to and, no matter how sick he was, through how much financial struggle he and mom were going through, always felt special and happy. His body may be stiff and cold from forced inactivity, but the warmth of those memories feels more real than that of the cosiest blanket and he silently utters the most heartfelt thank you to mom who, despite all the hardship, always found a way to cheer him up with something special on that day, to Mrs. Barnes, bless her kind and charming soul for actually persuading a lonely but proud and stubborn widow to spend the evening with them, and to Bucky, the boy who had the world hanging from his smile, dazed by his beauty and charm, and who, of all people, from the start, had always chosen him. And that, was a gift that nothing on Earth, in the whole universe, Steve was certain, would ever have a match.

He really wishes to hold on to that delightful feeling that so completely has taken him, but the rebel soldiers are starting to stir and soon the day is bright and the sound of an approaching car gets increasingly clear. The mission itself goes smooth and unsurprisingly fast. Accordingly dressed politician guy arrives and meets soldiers, sample weapons are shown, price is probably agreed on but Steve doesn't understand a word they're saying. Hopefully the bugs got it all, photos are nice and clear, technology never ceases to amaze him. Politician guy leaves, soldiers spread out, legs hurt but Steve jumps down as quietly as possible, retrieves bugs, discretely eludes their detection and is extremely happy that he can finally walk the 3 or 4 miles to where he left the rented car. It's still early, he'll be on time.

When you wake up in a large western city and spend years working for one of the most technologically advanced groups in the world, it's easy to forget there's a whole different world out there. Here, to be precise. Just a quick Skype call would do, a minute of Bucky's sweet smile while letting him know all is fine and I'll be home soon. But no, this place is 3 half-dead plants away from being a desert fully worthy of that name and an internet connection here is as real as a mirage. Good thing there's a tiny village some miles ahead and the possibility of, at least, phone coverage. He's not entirely wrong, it works well enough…during extremely cold nights between the months of July and August as long as there's no wind at all. Or so he's told. Like so many before, he has no choice but to perform the universally acclaimed phone dance, holding the device as high as he can, while on his tiptoes, and madly waving it around in every conceivable direction in hopes of getting that elusive but desired line that promises connection. He holds his breath as he dials, the slightest shift in position displeasing the phone gremlins who may steal the line away. For all his effort and dismay, a polite synthesized voice lets him know it's not possible to establish that connection right now. Or now. No, not now either. It's obvious the call won't go through and, with a resigned sigh, a simple text message will have to do. "On way home. Love u, Steve" Despite all the years he had spent in the new millennium and how acquainted he had gotten with the internet, he had yet to fully let go of an economy of written words conditioned by the habit of paying per letter on telegrams.

He doesn't regret it for a second, not signing the Accords. If it hadn't been for Bucky, it would be something else, it was only a matter of time until his values spoke higher than what others wanted to impose on him. No, he doesn't regret it, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss having some of Stark's technology at his call. Didn't even need much, a car that didn't look and act like a relic would be enough right now. Being a civilian, on the run, in a godforsaken country had this kind of inconveniences, like actually having to rent a vehicle and being lucky enough that someone was up for it. The man had smiled a wide grin and assured Steve that it looked old but worked just fine, he was a great mechanic and had made sure of it. It's not like Steve had exactly believed him but the alternatives weren't much better and time had been running out. And here he was, proven right in his assumptions but really wishing to be wrong. The engine seemed to have been losing power and Steve had already stopped twice trying to figure out why but to no avail. This time, it coughs louder than before and, with a final tremor, abandons its soul. It's not like he and Nat exactly agreed on a time and place, it's more of a pick me up when it's done and this middle of nowhere is as good as any other. At least there's signal and the call easily goes through. She sounds busy, the I'm in the middle of a revolution trying to shoot a goddamn sniper while protecting a kid and trying to get both parts to talk before this escalates into a full blown civil war kind of busy. Can you get your own ride, she asks. If she can juggle the intricacies of a revolution, Steve can damn well get a civilian flight to take him home. By his accounts it must be some 20 miles to the city, easy peasy if he had actually slept and had breakfast and the plane to Wakanda didn't take off in less than an hour.

"What do you mean you don't fly to Birnin Zana today?" The young woman at the desk tries her best, but is struggling between feeling somewhat intimidated by the insistence of this blond giant and keeping herself from reaching out and touching his massive muscles, so perfectly delineated under his sweat soaked shirt. Mondays and Fridays, she manages to explain. Not today. Steve's voice has a hint of despair that moves her and she does try her best to find him a solution. It's not good enough, tomorrow morning is far too late. Sometimes it crosses Steve's mind that the Universe has something against them being together, that it enjoys giving him glimpses of Bucky just to pull him back away. Well, the Universe be damned. What had Nat said about some rebel base not so far up North? Something about captured planes and using them to transport drugs to finance their terror?

He's known as the man with the plan. That's because his men and the missions depended on him, on gathering all the available Intel and devising a strategy to get things done with minimal casualties. Or so the legend goes. For the most part, the plan is more like a general guideline that gets adapted as it goes and the situation requires. Kind of like now. Ideally, he'd have a map of the place, descriptions from previous missions or captured enemies, backup and his trusty shield. Instead, this definitely falls under Bucky's category of something stupid, which is why, if it goes well enough, he'll never learn about it.

All in all, it went just as planned. It worked and the only casualty on his side was his phone. For a moment, in the middle of the fiery mayhem he'd created, he had feared that the shattering and pain he felt on his thigh was a bullet straight into the bone. Luckily, it had instead hit the device and the pain was nothing more than a couple of shards digging deep into his flesh. He'd definitely live, the plane was purring steadily over an endless blue ocean and all was good. Not as early as he would have liked it, but he'd be home soon enough. He even dared to finally relax, eyes shut for a few minutes, anticipating the evening and wondering if Bucky had prepared anything special. It didn't really matter, they'd be together and that'd be more than enough. He could swear the tank was half full the last time he checked, not really that long ago. How was it now close to empty? Some tapping here, a push there, a pull elsewhere, Steve checks the avionics certain it must be an error, maybe the gauge got stuck somehow… And then it hits him. The tank must have gotten shot while the plane sped along the runway. It doesn’t even come as much of a surprise, he had gone in stealthy and quiet but he already knew that would only take him so far. Some damned kid, too young to even should have been there, had sounded the alarm and, from then on, he had to kick and punch his way to the plane, knocking some out and outrunning others, while dodging their bullets. It’s not like in the movies, fuel doesn’t explode when bullets hit the tank, it just leaks out. There's land in the distance, a shoreline that merges into rolling plains, then hills and mountains and, beyond them, the blessed nation that gave his home a home. It’s late afternoon already and he's not entirely certain if it's the Universe that hates him or merely electric and electronic devices and a seed of doubt and despair starts burrowing into his chest. It’s not like he’s trying to save the world, just trying to go home. How hard should it be?

There's one of the region's big lakes just ahead and, having no fuel to go much further, it's better to let the plane dive into it than risk crashing onto the forest, or worse on a town, and causing far more damage. He jumps first, of course. God bless auto-pilots and those who invented them. It's dark already when he enters the small town by the lake, soaking wet and looking like a ghost. A hulking pale ghost at odds with the Universe and ready to fight it to his last breath. It doesn't know who it picked a fight with, but it will. It will! Turns out, maybe it's not the Universe that hates him, maybe sometimes it's just Lady Luck randomly playing her cards. He's so close now, a couple of hours away, Bucky, home, peace. A woman crosses herself when he walks by, another grabs her kid and hastily makes it out of his way. He knows the place, he's been here before with a man who served as his guide, who taught him the intricacies of this ever disputed land. He's finally greeted with a smile, food, wine, open arms and friendly insistence to stay the night. He can't, he's on a mission and the man understands, offers to drive him to the border and Steve grabs this offer with both hands and all the urgency. A few more miles and that's it, but either the Universe or Lady Luck haven't finished playing yet. There's a checkpoint on the road, a random one, both predictable in this region and unexpected in its ever changing location. Two police officers, heavily armed, bring the jeep to a stop. The fact that he's an international fugitive, with no papers, who looks like he has just escaped from hell, seems to be of much less importance to them than how much he's willing to pay for them to let him pass. He's just not in the mood, probably not ever but especially not right now and they don't even see it coming when he knocks them out.

At first, there's absolutely no difference between Wakandan lands and those of the surrounding neighbors. It's an illusion that suits them and that so few foreigners were given the privilege of knowing. The Wakandan princess has taken a special interest in them and Steve will always be amazed and thankful for the care she dispenses his beloved. She's a jewel that one, they don't come more precious than that. With their extraordinary technology, it's just a few minutes and Steve is finally home! He runs up hill, heart in his hands, ready to take whatever literally or figuratively Bucky throws at him for being this late. It smells good! Even outside it smells like Christmas and home… Home… There's a stuffed bird and cookies, a tree and shiny stars, it's nice but it's not home if Bucky isn't there. A sound startles him, Bucky's phone vibrates on the kitchen counter. "On my way. Love u. Steve", says the freshly arrived message. The Universe he can fight, even try his hand against Lady Luck, but Bucky's darkness he's afraid of, that it takes over and takes his Bucky forever away from him. 

***

There was a time when the future was Bucky's passion, all the technology and possibilities yet to come. He liked it here, in this land of wonders that, not even in his wildest dreams, he could have imagined then. He tried to keep it separate, distinct, the machines that had healed him from the ones that had caused him so much pain. It wasn't always easy, a sound, the flash of a light, and the darkness came back trying to claim him, remind him that he was just an asset, not a person, not worthy of saving. The doctors suggested it might help, get away from the city and its triggers. The animals and physical labor help keep those thoughts away. He likes it here, at the farm, bare feet feeling the ground, the contagious joy of kids, both human and caprine. Strange place for a Brooklyn boy to end up, but it's the most at peace he can remember. And safe. And even loved. He curls up by the fire, some of the animals close to him, a little rascal nuzzling his hand, challenging him to play even at that hour. It's love enough, isn't it? It's not like Steve promised he'd come.

His days as the Soldier may be over but there are parts of his training that'll never be forgotten. Not for a long time, at least. He's always alert, any little change in his surroundings a matter of life or death. They're both steady but light, those footsteps he knows so well! He lights up, so full of joy, of a kind of happiness he had told himself he didn't deserve.

"Ste..", it starts softly, a loving caress. ".. VE! Jesus!", it ends in that sort of disbelieving screech that means 'I'd beat you myself for doing the kind of shit that got you like that if you didn't look like that already'.

"I thought that was you”, Steve teases.

"What?" Oh, the long hair and tunic. Yeah, he gets it. It's not even the first time Steve jokes about it. "You disrespectful punk!" He reaches up, pulling Steve down by the fire, making sure he's real and that none of his cuts and bruises are too serious. "What does that make you?"

There's a certain resemblance to a classical depiction of the nativity going on, with sheep, goats, cows and smaller animals laying about, the little rascal even sleeping in Bucky's lap. And, as if life hadn’t taken them apart, time and time again, hadn’t thrown at them enough strangeness to last several lifetimes, Steve knows the exact answer Bucky expects, just like when they were kids, so tight they finished each other’s thoughts and teased each other as a sign of companionship and love. "The ass. Definitely the ass."

"Damn right! Glad you recognize it!", Bucky teases back, the pain in his heart already forgotten.

Just like that, one's darkness and the other one's rage turn to accomplice laughter. There's something magical about the scene, about two old but young men sitting by the most homely campfire in the most technologically advanced nation in the world as if it doesn't even exist. About the way they look at each other, so full of stars in their eyes that a lazy shooting star in the sky doesn't even register with them. Why should it? They already have their wishes fulfilled, they're finally together, after having fought Improbability itself, and they'll eat, drink, laugh and love to their hearts' content in the days to come. Sometimes, even the Universe and Lady Luck smile and let mere mortals have some of the happiness they deserve. 

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted something a bit different from the usual Christmas fluff but this ended up going places I didn't expect and even I don't know what to think of it. Not beta'd, not even properly reread as I've been quite sick and just wanted this finished. Constructive criticism most welcome. English is not my native language, so please do point out weirdly phrased sentences and grammar. 
> 
> To KOranges: I'm so sorry for taking this long and hope you enjoy it, even if just a tiny bit. I'm afraid there's angst running in my veins instead of blood. I tried to stay away from it. I swear I really did.


End file.
